Henry was completely embarrassed. Far beyond embarrassed, he was unsure he would ever recover his pride, lost somewhere on Mrs. Hawkin's floor the second time he fell. He was so embarrassed overall, he was unsure of exactly how much of each. While he could be embarrassed of being so shaken by Mrs. Hawkin's comment, he could also be embarrassed of how fraile, delicate Fanny could take over the situation better than he. He could also be embarrassed of falling down a second time, Mrs. Hawkins impertinent commentary, or even that Fanny had tried such schemes on him and he remained clueless.
Regardless, he was mortified. He wished the pain in his leg would be greater so that he may slip into unconsciousness.
He sat in a chair of one of his favorite private sitting rooms upstairs, his leg propped up, when Fanny came carefully into the room. Henry glared at his book, angry that Mrs. Hawkins had called for Fanny when he had specifically told her to leave it alone. He had hoped to compose himself a bit more.
Fanny said not a word, instead strides purposefully toward him.
"Fanny, please…" Whatever he was going to say was forgotten when she reached up a hand to his forehead. Her cool touch scattered all thoughts.
"You have a slight fever," she mumbled, more to herself than anyone else.
If you truly loved a woman, one did not force her into marriage, true? Yet, he had. He had failed to be the tragic hero of a one-sided love story and let her go. He had held on tightly, trapping her, taking advantage of her broken heart and vulnerable position.
Perhaps he had never truly loved her to let her go? Then what was this burning in his chest when he thought of her?
Henry came to the realization that he was not the tragic lover all the pretty trasera swooned for, the broken hearted man that made young maidens press the novel to their bossoms in excess of feelolings. No, he was the malicious villain, keeping the beauty against her will.
As Fanny fluttered about, checking his dressings, controlling his fever with a damp cloth, he remembered why he had married her. Her silent concern and careful patience always went unnoticed and taken for granted. He had wanted that gentle attention directed toward himself and in his efforts to draw them, he had fallen for her. Now all he wanted was to have her at the center of his world, if she would allow it.
"Fanny…" he paused.
He had been about to ask about the night before, but when her large eyes turned to look at him, the words dried up on his tongue.
"Why do you not call me Henry?" he salid instead.
He expected her to dismiss him, but, to his surprise, she paused in her little tasks and sat in a couch not to far from him, considering the question.
"It seems a bit disrespectful," she said at last, her voice reserved.
"Fanny, you are aware we are married, are you not?" Henry replied, despite himself. He didn't mean to sound condescending.
She smiled down at her hands. It was a soft thing, miniscule, but Henry felt pride for be8ng the cause of it regardless.
"Indeed we are," she looked out of the window, which gave a perfect view of the tremendous grounds outside. It was the reason this room was Henry's favorite.
"How are you getting along, Fanny? You would tell me if there is anything that you need is that not right?"
Fanny seemed startled. Her cheeks blushed prettily to match her morning dress. It was strange but Henry rarely noticed women's clothing as nothing more than a passing glace, but with Fanny he noticed all the small details, just as the faint dirt at the hem from her walk, the simplicity of the design as well as the cut and figure against her frame.
"Are you in need of more dresses, ribbon, lace, what else do when require?"
"Oh no," Fanny shook her head. "I am in need of nothing, Sir. I have everything I could ever want." she paused a moment her eyes sad at that sentence.
Henry determined to send for more dresses, cloaks, riding habits, shoes and accessories. He would ask a maid to take a sample from Fanny's meager closet for measurement and he would have them ordered in London. She seemed to prefer simple but he would also request fashionable and a few outrageous ones as well. He had gifted her some in the beginning but he had overestimated her previous wardrobe. He did not mean to be materialistic but he did not know how else to come closer to Fanny.
He wanted to say more. To ask her how she felt. If she was happy, if her heart still belonged to the cursed cousin of hers, if she found her new home suitable, did it clear her mind and fill her heart like it did to him, and most of all whatever did she mean with that act last night. He did not however, ask anything although his stomach burned with the unsaid.
"Will you call me Henry?" he said finally. "I call you Fanny."
"I shall try…" she made an adorable face where she pursed her lips and frowned slightly.
Henry looked at her expectedly.
"...Henry" the word finally liberated itself from her mouth and it hung in the air a moment.
He chuckled at her struggle and at the giddiness of hearing her say his Christian name.
A butler comes to the doorway and bows to the Crawfords.
"Mr. And Mrs. Rushworth to see you Master and Mistress."
